


Ten Years Gone

by thisyearsgrrrrl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, human!Cas, kind of end!verse-y, post 9.03, the major character death occurs before the fic begins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:24:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisyearsgrrrrl/pseuds/thisyearsgrrrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They ended the apocalypse, but it seems they couldn't stop the end of the world. With the Croatoan virus spreading and Heaven and Hell waging war on Metatron and humanity, Dean finds himself in familiar territory. Returning to the abandoned Bunker with Kevin, he finds Castiel with a ragtag group of survivors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Years Gone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [artsyUnderstudy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artsyUnderstudy/gifts).



> Dear lovely Ashton once said that she's always wanted a fic based on one of her pictures. She'll have to live with this one.

Inspired by artsyUnderstudy's picture [here](http://artsyunderstudy.tumblr.com/post/64645665213/after-castiel-falls-he-starts-getting-tattoos):

 

_Did you ever really need somebody, and really need 'em bad_  
 _Did you ever really want somebody, the best love you ever had_  
 _Do you ever remember me, baby, did it feel so good_  
 _'Cause it was just the first time, and you knew you would_

_See the eyes now sparkle, senses growing keen_  
 _Tasted love along the way, see your feathers preen_  
 _Kind of makes makes me feel sometimes, didn't have to grow_  
 _We are eagles of one nest, the nest is in our soul_

-"Ten Years Gone", Led Zeppelin

* * *

 

     What made Dean come back, he couldn’t say. He’d always resented his natural inclination towards sentimentality, but when he found himself recognizing familiar landmarks as he drove the untended forest roads (less populated and therefore safer now than the highways) he couldn’t help but indulge the longing that he’d been repressing, teasing at the edges of his mind for the last three months.

     Unable to resist, he turned the rugged, off-road car he’d stolen (he’d had to abandon his father’s car weeks ago), causing Kevin, sleeping on the passenger side to shift and startle awake.

     “Where are we?” Kevin asked, ignorant to Dean’s bitterness, sitting up and rubbing sleep from his eyes.

     “Near Lebanon, Kansas,” Dean said hesitantly, avoiding the prophet’s gaze.

     Kevin didn’t question him; instead pulling his gun from the hostler at his hip, re-checking that is was ready and loaded, a newly acquired nervous tick that made Dean’s skin crawl.

     It had been three months – _three months_ – since it had happened: the end of the world, as it had been foretold, but not as how it had been predicted. Abbadon had released the Croatoan virus on a helpless and unsuspecting humanity, the angels too preoccupied with their own war against Metatron to be of use. A demonic siege against the Men of Letter’s Bunker had forced Dean and Kevin to make an escape. They’d been on the road ever since.

     In a way, the road suited Dean better. His restless spirit, worn rough from his years of fighting, could never settle on contentment. There was something in the back of his mind, always, telling him _something isn’t right_ or _not good_ or _never enough_. He had been cut and molded back together into a shape that didn’t fit anywhere anymore. It had become a sort of dark comfort that the world was now worse off than he was.

     The car rumbled forward, headlights revealing trees in the darkness. The door to the Bunker, overgrown as the day they had first discovered it, came into view. Dean pulled up and turned off the car; he and Kevin gathered their few belongings packed in bags and began clearing away the brush. Flashlights on, they entered the Bunker, careful that their footfalls were light on the floor as Dean led them into the Bunker. Turning a corner that led to the kitchen, they saw light up ahead.

     “Demons?” Kevin asked. Dean shook his head. It was impossible, the Bunker was protected by too many wards and magic that kept the supernatural at bay. Even while under attack, the Bunker had withheld. It was only when Dean had realized, all those months ago, that they were being starved out he made the decision to leave. Dean motioned to turn off their lights, creeping forward to see who had entered their former home.

     Peering around the corner, Dean saw five people, three women and two men, making food at the stove, quietly laughing and talking. Scanning the group, Dean realized that one of the women held a sleeping child in her arms.

     He heard the click of the gun behind him before he felt the presence of the other person.

     “Drop your guns and bags.”

     The voice hit Dean in the chest. He turned, looking over Kevin’s shoulder to the darkness where the words emanated.

     “God,” the voice breathed, the gun’s safety softly clicking back into place. “Dean.”

     “ _Cas_.” Throwing aside his bag, Dean felt his feet carrying him forward into familiar arms, falling around a familiar body, and after a beat, the unfamiliar reciprocation of affection, never before done.

     “Cas?” a voice called from the kitchen, now gone uncomfortably quiet. “Cas, is something wrong?”

     Dean felt the body – Cas, _Cas_ – pull away from him. “It’s okay, Bradley,” Cas called. “The Winchesters are here.” Even as Cas said this, his eyes looked back and forth between Dean and Kevin, taking in the noticeable absence. “Kevin,” Cas said. “I’m glad to see you’re not dead.”

     “Thanks,” Kevin snorted sarcastically before pulling the larger man into an awkward hug. Cas’s eyes met Dean’s over Kevin’s shoulder. Footsteps came toward them, a man peering through the doorway at their reunion.

     “ _The_ Winchesters?” he said, eyeing the men.

     “Dean,” he introduced himself, extending a hand, unable to look at the sorrow filling Cas’s eyes. He entered the kitchen, grimier than he remembered keeping it, obviously running on their reserve power. “Generator not working?”

     “Something went wrong with the dam,” Cas answered, following Dean into the kitchen. “We’ve been trying to fix it.”

     “When did you get here?” Dean asked.

     “Two weeks ago,” one of the men, Bradley, responded. “Cas found us. Said we’d be safe here.”

     “I was concerned when it became obvious you had left here some time ago,” Cas said, drawing Dean’s attention back to him.

     “Demons attacked,” Dean said gruffly. “They were starving us out. Once on the outside, people started needing our help.”

     Cas nodded. “Have you eaten? Amanda was just making dinner.”

     A young, black-skinned woman nodded. “Please, have dinner with us.”

     “Sounds good,” Kevin said when Dean remained silent. He couldn’t tear his gaze from Cas, skinny looking, swaying slightly now that Dean could see him better, dark bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep, or….

     “Can we talk?” Cas asked, Dean nodding before he even finished the sentence. The group shifted uneasily, sensing that something was off, though Dean and Cas didn’t acknowledge it, instead walking out of the room and down the hall. Turning through the semidarkness, Dean a hoarse laugh when he saw where Cas had led him.

     “My bedroom, Cas?”

     Cas’s hand hesitated on the door handle. “I thought you were dead,” Cas said, turning the handle and opening the room. But it wasn’t as Dean had left it. There were piles of books and clothing haphazardly around the room. One wall was half-covered in the beginning of a mural, trees crudely painted on.

     “I, uh…” Dean stuttered. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

     Dean felt the warm press of fingertips to his wrist. “Dean,” Cas said.

     Stepping away, Dean walked to where his records lay. Several more had been added, and _Physical Graffiti_ lay on the turntable nearby. Dean turned his head, empty bottles of wine, vodka, and whiskey littering the floor, under, in and on top of the mess.

    "I sort of, uh... I sort of went on a bender," Cas said, staring at the empty bottles. "When you weren't here. I thought you might have...." He didn't finish his sentence, instead turning to look uneasily at Dean “Dean…?” Cas said, his forehead crinkling in confusion as hollow laughter tumbled from Dean’s lips. Cas had stepped forward to Dean again, a little too close as always. Dean could even smell Cas. He didn’t remember Cas having a smell, musky, spicy like cinnamon, and… fuckssake. Cas smelt like patchouli, all of it weaving itself together in Dean’s mind so that his head became muddled and heavy with it. On top of it all, the unmistakeable scent of _man_. _I promised myself this wouldn’t happen_ , Dean thought, I _promised myself that I wouldn’t let this happen to you._ It made Dean cringe, but instead he laughed, hollow and manic. He smiled, relieved that the tears that came to his eyes helped to hide the worry and confusion clouding Cas’s face.

     “It happened, Cas,” Dean said through his giggles. “All those years ago, Zachariah took me to the future, remember?” He felt himself stumbling towards the bed, suddenly unable to breathe. “ _We’ll always end up here_ ,” Dean mumbled, falling onto the mattress, hands fisting in the stained sheets of his – Cas’s bed. “I thought we’d stopped it.”

     “What are you talking about, Dean?”

     Dean looked up at Cas, eyes over-bright. “The apocalypse.”

     Dean heard Cas’s sharp intake of breath. “Dean,” Cas said carefully. “Where’s Sam?”

     “I thought you were dead,” Dean said. “After you left, after…” _after I told you to leave._ “You didn’t call, or anything, and… and then everything went to shit. We waited, but you disappeared, and what we heard about Illinois, we figured.…” Dean took a breath. “I’m sorry. We should have waited.”

     “You did what you could.”

     Laughing again, Dean dug his nails into the palms of his hands. “Like fuck I did,” he muttered darkly. “Stopped the fucking apocalypse. Couldn’t stop the end of the world.”

     Shaking his head, Dean allowed the _fucked up_ ’s and _not good enough_ ’s to shout inside his head.

     “I should have looked for you, Cas,” Dean said, the words beginning to spill out of him.

     “Dean….”

     “No. We…” Dean swallowed. “…I should have come for you. When you fell. It should have been me that found you. I owed you that much.” Dean squeezed his eyes shut. Damn. He’d fucked it up again. It wasn’t about owing. It was about… something deeper, the something deeper that he’d tried so hard to resist and forget over all the years he’d known Cas.

     A strong hand on his shoulder forced him to look up into Cas’s eyes. Weary sorrow filled the former angel’s eyes, and for a moment, Dean was afraid that maybe he knew, had known for years, and _what if he said something, goddamn, please, please don’t say anything, Cas. Couldn’t bear it, just couldn’t…._

    “Where is Sam?” Cas asked quietly.

     It was a small relief, Cas’s words, before they curdled in Dean’s chest. A carefully practiced non-feeling rose in Dean. “Sam found out that Ezekiel was possessing him,” he said. “He didn’t know, Cas. He kicked him out before he was strong enough. He…” Dean swallows. “He died.”

     Cas didn’t say anything. Dean’s heart raced in his chest at the effort of making himself calm.

     “What are we gonna do, Cas?” Dean asked, his voice rough and whispery.

     Through the door, they heard laughter. Sighing, Cas moved toward the door. “You’re going to eat something,” he said, not looking at Dean. “And then we’re going to get some rest.” When he reached the door, he finally looked back at Dean, who could see the redness of his eyes, their twitch, and Dean realised that Cas was trying not to cry. “Wait here. I’ll bring something for you.”

     He closed the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

     It’s amazing how tired one can be without really feeling it. Being on the road for weeks had left Dean with very little sleep. In the safety of his – Cas’s room, he felt his body beginning to give in to its much needed rest. Barely able to keep his eyes open, Cas had forced him to keep eating until he was satisfied Dean had been fed enough. Cas then began clearing a spot on the bed for Dean to sleep.

     “No, dude. This is your room now. I’ll bunk somewhere else.”

     Cas blushed. “There isn’t somewhere else, really. Besides, it was your room first.” Dean avoided looking at Cas’s face as the man threw clothing and extra blankets onto the floor. His eyes landed on the extra pillow on the other side of the bed. His stomach rolled. Cas had left a space that Dean had never bothered to make.

     “Wait...”

     “You’re sleeping here,” Cas grunted. “It’s not up for discussion.”

     “Fine.”

      Cas nodded once sharply, pleased that Dean wasn’t going to fight. Dean’s eyes were drooping as Cas moved around the room, efficiently cleaning away the clothing and dirty dishes.

      “Cas, could you…?”

     Cas didn’t hear Dean’s whisper, finishing clearing room on the bed. Dean found his hand reaching out for Cas’s shoulder. Cas stilled.

     “Can you stay?”

     Dean watched the forced calm of Cas’s face, hoping for a hint of what was stirring under the surface. “Of course, Dean,” Cas said, his voice quiet and measured. “You do realize, though, that I require sleep now.”

     Guilt rippled Dean’s stomach. He forced a laugh, “Yeah Cas. Most people do.”

     Cas nodded slowly, looking around the room for somewhere to place himself.

     “Shit, Cas. Fuck it,” Dean grunted. “Just… just get in the bed.”

      Another nod. Cas’s eyes flashed to Dean, before turning away from the man in shame to take off the layers of clothing he was wearing. “I usually sleep in only my underwear,” he said, pulling his sweater from his shoulders.

     “Whatever, man,” Dean said, forcing his shaking hands to start unbuttoning his shirt. He tried to keep his eyes averted, but when Cas removed his T-shirt, Dean couldn’t help his audible gasp.

     Cas’s back was covered in wings, dark lines etched into his skin. He turned, a blush rising on his neck as Dean saw words, symbols and an anti-possession tattoo where Dean and Sam’s used to be, a word Dean didn’t recognise in Enochian near it, a broken rosary drawn around his neck.

     “I, um,” Cas said. “Bradley used to tattoo.”

     Dean said nothing.

     “Jimmy was gone, and…” Cas said, the blush creeping over more of his face and chest. “And it didn’t feel like… like my own.” His hand goes to his chest, hovering over his torso.

     “It wasn’t a vessel anymore,” Dean said quietly. Cas let out a breath, and nodded. Averting his eyes, he turned back around and took off his pants. The tattoos flowed down his legs too, countless bands encircling his left thigh. He turned back around and walked purposely towards the bed, crawling under the covers to look back up at Dean who had quietly returned to undressing. Finished, he got into the bed, and Cas turned to switch off the light, leaving them in darkness.

     They lay facing each other, suddenly unable to sleep. Dean’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and saw that Cas was staring back at him. He could feel Cas’s body heat radiating from the other side of the bed. The silence was heavy, thickening the air between them.

     “You should know,” Dean muttered. “I didn’t want to send you away.”

     “Doesn’t make much of a difference now,” Cas said, pulling the covers in tighter. There was a pause, the sound of their breathing loud in their ears. “I missed you,” Cas said quietly.

     Dean gulped. Cas was watching him intensely, as if he could still see Dean through the darkness as clearly as he had when he was an angel. 

     “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Dean whispered. He couldn’t help the habit of looking down toward his feet, and he felt Cas inch closer. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean forced the rising emotion in his chest back down. “Shit, there’s nothing I can do to…”

     “Dean,” Cas said, speaking softly as he shuffled to Dean, pressing his legs against Dean’s. “Rest for tonight. We’ll figure it all out in the morning.”

      Laughing raggedly, Dean looked up. Cas’s bright eyes stared back. Dean wondered when had he gotten so close even as he felt himself edging towards Cas on the bed. His eyes flashed to Cas’s lips, fuzzy in the darkness, but open enough that Dean could feel the hot press of breath against his cheek. His heart started beating against his ribcage.

     If there was any time in Dean’s life that he needed to be brave, he thought, now was the time. Their foreheads were pressed together, and Dean could feel his exhale being taken up in Cas’s inhale, the drag of his leg against Cas’s, the clutch of Cas’s hand in the pocket they made between them. The world narrowed to them, their bed, and Dean felt himself reaching out to take Cas’s hand and press it against his pounding chest. He had tried so hard and for so long to fight this – _this_ – whatever he felt for Cas. There were always excuses, loopholes to be avoided.

     But tonight.

     Tonight, Dean was just too damn tired to fight anymore.

      When Cas finally kissed him, he could feel the warm wetness of tears against his face. Dean brought his hands up, pulling Cas deeper, turning his head to kiss them from his face, causing Cas to laugh wetly. “This wasn’t how I imagined it,” Cas said.

     “You imagined it?” Dean asked playfully, hoping to lighten the mood. His voice betrayed him though, and he pulled Cas into his arms to hide his embarrassment.

     Cas said nothing, instead pressing his face into the crook of Dean’s shoulder. “You didn’t?” he mumbled after a pause.

     Dean kissed him again by way of an answer, nipping Cas’s lip until he opened up, tentatively licking against Dean’s tongue. He forced himself to go slow, to make sure it, whatever it was, was good for Cas, to not mess it up for them. He pulled him in closer, sliding a leg between Cas’s and tangling their feet together. Dean sighed when he felt the gentle roll of Cas’s hips against his. They stayed like this, kissing and pressing, until Cas gripped Dean’s hips and thrust forward to meet them, sharper and harder than he had before.

     “I’m not a china doll, Dean,” Cas breathed into Dean’s ear. “You don’t have to fuck me like one.”

     Dean sucked in a breath. It was happening then. Cas wanted it, wanted Dean. His mind whirled, half gone already with exhaustion and desire. He groaned, unable to find the words, and rolled them over. Straddling Cas, Dean began a more persistent pace, grinding their hardening erections against each other, savouring every breathless noise Cas made against his lips.

      “Too many clothes,” Cas whispered, and Dean was tugging off what remained of their pyjamas. Throwing their clothes to the floor, Cas leaned up to catch Dean in a kiss, slow and passionate as he pulled Dean into his lap, grasping both of their dicks in his hand. Pre-come already made Dean slick, and he couldn’t help the groan as he watched Cas watching himself jerk them off together.

     “Shit,” Dean groaned. “Shit!” His body turned to putty in Cas’s hands, too overcome to do much other than watch.

     “I used to think about this too,” Cas murmured, watching Dean’s dick disappear and reappear in his fist. “You’re just as beautiful as I imagined.”

     Dean squirmed at being called beautiful, but soon forgot it when Cas suddenly leaned in, releasing his own dick in favour of sucking on the head of Dean’s cock, Dean’s hands blindly grabbing onto Cas’s shoulders for support.

     “So beautiful,” Cas breathed against his dick, swallowing it down once more. Cas maneuvered them to lay Dean on his back, hovering over him as worked over Dean with his mouth.

      His body began shaking, Dean felt his body begin to tighten with pleasure. “Cas,” he gasped. “Cas, I’m…” He felt Cas quicken his pace. Dean grabbed his shoulder. “No.”

     Dean winced when he felt Cas’s mouth pop from his dick, cold air making him shiver. He reached for Cas’s face in the dark, smoothing the lines of confusion that creased his face. “Not… not like that. I always thought…” Dean tried to say, but he had never been good at speaking, not when he was so bone-tired, and especially not with Cas kneeling so close to him, naked and panting. He sighed, hoping for Cas to intuit his meaning.

      “I wanted… I wanted you…” With Cas’s small gasp of realization, Dean felt his body relax. “Is that… is that okay?” Dean asked, reaching forward, meeting Cas’s hands halfway. The press of lips against the palm of his hand, then his wrist, then shoulder then cheek then lips helped calm Dean’s nerves as they tangled themselves into the sheets. _God, I could be like this forever_ , he thought, Cas pressed to him, holding him closer and closer.

      With a chaste kiss to the side of his mouth, Cas pulled away, reaching into the bedside drawer. Dean’s heart thundered in his chest, and he was glad it was with excitement, not fear.  When he felt the bottle of lube being handed to him, however, he frowned. “You want me…?”

     He could practically feel Cas’s blush. “It’s a bit of an awkward angle,” he said, speaking cautiously, voice guarded.

     Dean blinked, not understanding. Clarity flashed into his mind, and he found himself blurting, “But I meant….” Unable to finish his sentence, Dean cast his eyes to his lap, suddenly embarrassed and shy. Cas sat frozen. He’d done it. He’d managed to fuck up the one thing that seemed to actually be coming naturally to them. Reprimanding himself, Dean cursed himself for not just going along with whatever Cas wanted.

     “Wait,” Cas said slowly, realization dawning on him.

     “We don’t have to,” Dean said quickly, pulling his legs free from the sheets and Cas. “I mean, if you don’t like…” but Dean’s words were cut off by Cas kissing him fiercely.

     “You really need to shut up.” Cas growled. He was pushing them both down so they were laying on the bed, tangling them back together.

     “I just thought…” Dean was saying between kisses.

     “That I wouldn’t want you?” Cas said, the click of the lube being opened echoing in Dean’s head. They stilled against one another, breathing in shared air. Feeling Cas’s hand hovering between his legs, Dean shifted to allow room, moving forward so Cas’s erection pressed against his own. Christ, he was hard, Dean could feel it. He began to shake again as Cas’s cold-slicked fingers began circling Dean’s ass.

     “Dean,” Cas said, and Dean looked into his eyes. He gasped when Cas thrust the first finger into him, tightening reflexively around the digit. “There is no way, after everything, after…” Another finger, and Dean’s moan caught in Cas’s mouth as the former angel kissed him. “I could never not want you,” and the need in Cas’s voice was so great, that Dean felt himself letting down the last of his walls against Cas.

      “I know,” Cas said against Dean’s skin, and Dean realized he was muttering incoherent nothings as Cas huffed warm gusts of air against his neck, scissoring Dean open.

     “Don’t stop,” Dean heard himself murmuring, grasping at Cas’s body as Cas’s fingers brushed deep inside him, fingers blindly finding his prostate to rub over again and again, having Dean thrust back against Cas’s hand. “Don’t stop, Cas. Never. Never stop, don’t sto –” Dean’s words turned to moans as Cas ground his fingers deeper into Dean.

     Suddenly, Dean’s ass was empty, and Cas was tearing opening the aluminum of the condom. Through the rush of emotions, he couldn’t help but smile when he saw Cas fumble and drop the condom, distracted by Dean. Pulling himself together, Cas rolled the condom onto himself, crawling to lean over top of Dean. 

     “Like this?” Cas asked. Dean could only nod, push his hips forward and plead with his eyes for Cas to hurry up and fuck him. Feeling the press of Cas’s dick against his ass, Dean reminding himself to relax, and breathed out slowly as Cas pushed his way in.

     Dean took Cas’s face in his hands, and pulled him close for another kiss. Pulling back slightly, Dean nodded against Cas’s cheek. One more kiss, and Cas began moving. Blessed movement, slow and shallow inside of Dean, and he forced himself to remember it was Cas doing it, not Dean’s own slicked up fingers inside himself with the image of the angel writhing over him held firmly in his mind. It was actually _Cas_ , _his Cas_ , who’s sweat was beginning to fall from his face onto Dean’s cheeks and chest. It was Cas’s thigh that Dean held on to, pulling Cas closer and closer as he picked up speed. It was Cas who held back Dean’s hand as he sucked a bruise onto Dean’s neck, shoulder, chest, Cas who moaned back when his name sprang from Dean’s lips.

     Cas began to jerk Dean’s dick in time with his thrusts, sweet climax rapidly approaching. “Close, Dean,” Cas said, head falling to Dean’s shoulder. “Close.”

     Dean could only groan in sympathy, and come over their stomachs, his mind overwhelming itself and blacking out as he felt Cas tense around and inside of him. When he became aware again of his surroundings, he found himself held firmly against Cas’s chest, Dean’s body racked with sobs as Cas kissed him, stroked his back and soothed him.

     “Sleep, Dean,” Cas murmured, the words sliding into the crevasses and dark places of Dean’s body. “Sleep.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

     “What does this one mean?” Dean asked, running his fingers along the Enochian on Cas’s ribs.

     They lay in bed, having slept soundly thought the night wrapped in each other, not knowing where one began and the other ended. Cas had left to bring them food, telling Dean that they had slept through breakfast and into the late afternoon. Half-eaten eggs and toast sat on the floor as Dean in the warm lamp-light explored Cas.

     “Angel ward,” Cas said, a small, contended smile turning up the edges of his lips and crinkling his eyes. “Right after I turned human, so they couldn’t find me.”

     “And this one?” Dean’s fingers ran down Cas’s torso onto his leg, fingers dancing along the rings that encircled Cas’s leg, marvelling that Cas still let Dean touch him. 

     He felt Cas shift against him. “It’s to remember,” he said, drawing his fingers against Dean’s chest. “Every ring is an angel I killed during the war,” he paused, “after the war.”

     The sorrow in Cas’s voice rang hollow in the room. Dean ran his hand on the anti-angel sigil still visible as scar tissue. “I asked too much,” Dean mumbled.

     Cas frowned. “Probably.” He placed his hand over Dean’s, and Dean could feel his gaze despite avoiding Cas’s eyes. “But… I can’t be angry at you for it.” Cas moved in closer, and Dean’s arms opened to allow him space before he consciously made the decision. “I’ve stopped being able to see other possibilities as to how things would turn out,” Cas admitted, his fingers absently curling and unfurling against Dean’s stomach. “I can help but feel this is how things were meant to be.”

     Dean thought about Lucifer, all those years ago, in the body of his brother. He thought about the Croats outside, and Heaven still closed and Hell ready to break out. It was all too big for him, too many emotions that would never fit inside of this room, not the way that Dean and Cas seemed to fill its corners.

     “Can I stay?” Dean felt himself say, the words flying out before he could stop them.

     “It’s your Bunker,” Cas mumbled sarcastically.

     “Cas,” Dean whispered.

      There was a moment of silence, before he heard Cas breathe. Picking up Dean’s hand, he lifted the hunter’s fingers to his chest, to the tattoo above his heart. “This,” says Cas, pressing Dean’s fingers in closer, “This is your name in Enochian.” Dean felt the pattern. “I stitched your soul back together,” Cas said softly, watching the trail of Dean’s fingers. “It was lovely, even after hell, even…”

     Dean caught the words in a kiss, and they filled him up as Cas ran his fingers through Dean’s hair. _This_ , thought Dean, _this was enough_. Until the end of the world, and no doubt beyond, through heaven and hell and back again, this would be enough.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The story is, for now, lacking in a good beta. Let me know what you think, and if I made any mistakes. 
> 
> Title taken from Led Zeppelin's "Ten Years Gone" from their album Physical Graffiti.


End file.
